


Three sentence ficlets for "To Say Nothing of the Dog"

by Zoya1416



Category: Oxford Time Travel Universe - Connie Willis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 00:50:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5354615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoya1416/pseuds/Zoya1416
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What it says on the tin. Hope you'll like them--I enjoyed writing them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three sentence ficlets for "To Say Nothing of the Dog"

Ned shot straight upright in his bed, confused for a moment; at first he thought it was a dream:the steam express was bearing down on him, inexorably this time, or was it the All-Clear? Then he seemed to hear the bulldog Cyrus, in his loud night explosions, but  
finally realized the the noise was closer at hand. Who would ever have believed that Verity Kindle, sweet naiad of his dreams and his fiancee, could snore like a bandsaw?

%%%%%%%%%%  
When Verity brought back a non-significant object through the net, it meant a whole new dimension for historians, as well as a chance to rescue an extinct species. Finch rejoiced in his mission to abstract surplus kittens by rescuing them from drowning; he hadn't known—no one had known—that Victorian cats reproduced so profligately, and in all seasons.

Grimly disregarding the snow and his wholly inadequate butler's frock coat, he thrust his right arm into the icy river up to the shoulder; at first he thought he'd missed them, but then he exhaled in relief as his chilled fingers touched the knotted burlap sack.

%%%%%%%%%%%  
Lizzie Bittner adjusted the coordinates and ducked under the red velvet veils of the net, biting her lip in the hope that her desperate plan would work; the veils lifted and she saw she was too late—the whole nave was on fire, and she was nearly overcome by smoke.  
She plunged back into the net and into 21st century England, adjusting the settings hurriedly: this time she arrived when the fire had just started, and in three more jumps she was able to pull out the embroidered altar cloth from the Smiths' chapel, an engraved pewter chalice, a misericord carved with one of the Seven Works of Mercy, and several more treasures. 

In the last trip, she tried to reach the Smiths' Chapel, but it was ablaze, and the rafters were coming down around her; she blindly grabbed the first thing she could and dashed breathlessly into the net, cackling weakly as she saw what lay in her arms: the hideous bishop's bird stump. 

%%%%%%%  
After Carruthers disappeared into the fields near Coventry and couldn't get back, Warder altered coordinates, looking for increased slippage, looking for any anomaly she could seize on; the historians came and went, griping about multiple drops, damning the unreasonableness of Lady Schrapnell, and demanding she find new costumes as well arrange the drops. It was nearly overwhelming, and she shrieked at them because she couldn't cry yet; finally she thought of thought of running an accelerated to see if she could get through the block. “December 12. 2 AM. 6AM. 2 PM, 6 PM.” Mr. Dunworthy was approaching, telling her to stop what she was doing, get a fix on Verity, when suddenly the veils shimmered: her sweetheart appeared in the net, dressed in his AFS coveralls, dirty, shaky, but whole, blessedly whole, lost no more.

%%%%%%%%%  
Baine was brooding over the Thames, calculating how he would get another position if he deserted this one; no one here would give him a reference, and it might be that he would have to sail for America, alone, without the woman he loved. Suddenly the woman he loved approached, dressed in her normal frippery of ruffles, tucks, and lace, and accosted him; she first demanded multiple times that he praise her taste and the atrocious so-called work of art, the hideous cast-iron footed firugeal urn. Finally she dismissed him from his post, and he realized that he could speak freely; when she had wound up to the pitch of screaming at him, he picked her up and carried her to the river, saying “And thus I'll curb her mad and headstrong humour,” and ignoring her screams, he cast her outward in a wide arc, out to his hoped-for future.


End file.
